It's been a little too long since the maestro dialed up the DBTs. We regret the error:
I've always thought that a Drive By Truckers song featuring SEC football coaches would be awesome. Not really funny, because no DBTs song has ever been funny except in the darkest sense of the term. But awesome in a hypnotic, head nodding, probation revoking, family court frequenting kind of way. We could learn about all kinds of everyday moments, moments of joy and sadness. Moments when everyday folks struggle and eventually triumph over their personal challenges. Or not. Moments like, like . . .
Like that time Spurrier told Stephen Garcia that he better straighten up and fly right/ But Garcia said that's just not the kind of man I am/ and no coach is gonna change me visor boy/ So now he's bagging groceries in Winter Haven and crashing on his old lady's couch/ But it's cool because it's better to die on your feet getting more bologna from the walk-in than to live on your knees.
Or when Gene Chizik got that job in Auburn/And his mama was so proud/Cause she thought that boy'd never amount to nothin'/And sure he might have left a few extra heavy duffle bags lying on a few porches/And might have filled Pastor Newton's offering plate 'till that sumbitch cracked in two/But the price of winnin' is losin' man/Cause honor's for those that's got a choice.
Or how Les Miles never saw Lynryd Skynyrd/ But he did see Molly Hatchet/ And was a member of Manfred Mann's Earth Band/ For 3 days in '81. And they loved the way he played/ That accordian with just a little grime/ But couldn't get over how/ he never could get his ass to the stage on time.
Or about Will Muschamp and his buddies/ Man sometimes they get tired of the boss/ bitchin' and bitchin' about players arrested/ And if Steve Addazio's ever gonna clean out his office/ So they sneak back behind the stadium and they take a little puff/ Just like everybody else in G'ville, ya know? Just to mellow out ya know?/ And you may judge them, but you'd do it too/ if you had 23 years of football tradition to live up to./ And an empty visor judging you from that damned trophy case.
Cause Mark Richt was a helluva poker player when he was a young man/ They called him "Boca" they say, at least until he beat that fella in Bainbridge with a tire iron for doin' it/ You see every man's got his breaking point/ when he's all out of love and chocolate milk and self respect/ So the next night you see Boca pullin' a big ole sack out of that red F-150/ You might want to keep on walkin'.
I'm sure you guys can probably come up with a few of your own. If you want to drop them in the comments feel free to. Or talk about whatever else suits your fancy. Until later . . .